Champion's Fall
by XX55XX
Summary: Shortly after the events of Dragon Age II, Hawke and Merrill flee Kirkwall, with templars in hot pursuit. Little do they know how much the world is about to change...
1. Chapter 001: Flight from Kirkwall

**Dragon Age: Champion's Fall**

_**Chapter 001 - Flight from Kirkwall  
><strong>_

Merrill looked up. She exhaled. Her breath drew out, in a mist barely distinguishable from the gusts of drifting snow. Hawke was a few meters ahead. She shuffled clumsily, struggling to catch up to him.

The snow beneath her feet was as raw as the early morning chill. Though Merrill had wrapped them in rags to ward off frostbite and gangrene, shoes probably would have been a better option. Merrill sighed. In all of her ten years since coming to the Free Marches, she had not even bothered to obtain a pair of shoes. She peered down at the rags covering her feet. They were torn, black and bloody – she would need to replace them as soon as they stopped.

A bitter wind blew snowflakes into her face. Merrill gripped the shawl wrapped around her even more tightly. Her stomach growled. She had not eaten in two days, and her last meal – which comprised of a pitiful half-dozen wild mushrooms, was scarcely sufficient for an infant, let alone a grown adult elf.

She lifted her head to look at Hawke. Without warning, Hawke's figure suddenly blurred before her eyes. The entire world was spinning around her. Her head was about to split in two.

"Argh..." Merrill collapsed to her knees.

Hawke looked back. "Merrill!" He dashed towards the stricken elf and helped her to her feet.

"Lethallin," she cried. "Can we... can we... rest a little?" The pain was too much for the elf to bear.

"Merrill, we can't rest here. Come on." Hawke hoisted Merrill's limp form across his shoulders.

"If I die..."

"You can't die," Hawke said sternly. It's not an option under my watch."

Merrill smiled faintly and closed her eyes. Such confidence was reassuring even though the fierce wind suggested otherwise.

/

It had been nearly a month since Hawke and Merrill fled Kirkwall and its mage rebellion. They had fought briefly with the mages against the templars, but as the templars gradually regained control and issued arrest warrants for the pair, Aveline urged them to flee.

They went north, beyond the mountains of Sundermount. They also had the unfortunate luck of traveling through the Vimmark Mountains in the dead of winter. Beyond lichen and mushrooms scavenged along the valleys between the peaks, there was little to eat.

However, even in these remote mountains, the templars still lurked along the trails, eager to spring up upon malelificar and their sympathizers to either arrest or kill them. Hawke and Merrill had yet to encounter them, but given their severely weakened states, an ambush by even a small number of templars could prove deadly.

They were near the base of the mountain now. It was exhausting to hike over it, but thankfully, the descent was not as challenging, even with Merrill weighing down Hawke's back. A valley dotted with many snow-covered fir trees greeted Hawke's eyes.

As they descended into the valley and entered the forest, Hawke heard a rustle in the distance.

"Merrill." Hawke laid the elf upon the ground besides a tree. "I'm going to scout ahead." He presented her with a dagger. "Under no circumstances do you move, alright?"

The delirious elf took the dagger, nodded slowly, and sat up besides the tree. "Be back soon, ma vhenan," she whispered.

Hawke strode forward, unsheathing his sword as he did so. He squinted his eyes at the bushes in the distance. No movement. He looked up and scanned the treetops. Nothing. Hawke sighed and sheathed his sword.

As he turned around, Hawke felt a sword's tip upon his neck.

"Don't move," a gruff voice commanded. Hawke remained still.

"Turn around. Slowly. Put your hands where I can see them." Hawke turned around slowly, arms raised. His eyes met his captor. He was a templar. Hawke heaved. After nearly a month of not seeing a single templar, they had to show up now, when he and Merrill were most vulnerable. The templar pointed his sword directly at Hawke's neck. Using his free arm, the templar pulled Hawke's sword from its scabbard and tossed it away.

"Williamson!" the templar cried. "Do you have the elf?"

Hawke turned his head. Another templar, carrying Merrill in his arms, meandered forward.

"Yes, Clive. I have her. Little one didn't put up much of a fight."

Clive nodded in approval and pulled out a sheet of paper, while keeping his sword trained on Hawke's neck. His eyes met Hawke's.

"Under orders of Knight-Commander Cullen, I, Knight Robert Clive, am putting you, Garrett Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, under arrest for consorting with blood mages. You and your companion will be escorted back to Kirkwall to face these charges. In the meanwhile, it is suggested that you-"

"ARRGGGAH!" Hawke looked up. A dwarf with a great red beard, who seemingly materialized out of nowhere, ran up behind Clive, and beheaded the templar in one quick swing with his axe. Blood splattered all over Hawke's face. What was left of Clive crumpled. His head rolled onto the snowy forest floor and rested upon Hawke's left foot.

The dwarf jumped upon Clive's headless corpse to face the other templar. "What are you going to do with that big sword now, huh, templar man?" he taunted. Williamson stepped back, his face blank with shock. Despite the snow swirling all around, Hawke could see that his face was white with fear.

"YOU WANT SOME? YOU WANT SOME?" The dwarf raised his axe as he made another frenzied war cry.

Williamson crouched behind his shield, as if to make a stand-

The dwarf charged. The templar dropped his sword and fled.

The dwarf stopped and relaxed his axe. "Yeah, yeah, run away like a pussy. Just like the others. No one in this freaking land has the balls to stand up to OGHREN!"

"That always gets them," he murmured, watching Williamson scurrying away towards the mountain.

Hawke retrieved the sword that the templar had disarmed him of earlier and wiped the blood from his face. Merrill remained on the forest ground, swaying, scarcely aware of what had happened.

Hawke turned to face the dwarf, extending his hand in gratitude. "Uh... Thank you, I suppose."

The dwarf raised his hand. "No need. You're Hawke, aren't you? The Champion of Kirkwall, right? You can't come to the bloody Free Marches and not hear 'Hawke, Hawke, Hawke!' all the damn nuglicking time. Of course I know who you are!"

Pausing briefly, the dwarf tossed Clive's headless corpse another quick glance before rambling on.

"The name's Oghren, by the way." Oghren looked down at Merrill. "Anyways, Champion, I don't think your elf friend is doing so hot. Come on. My camp is just a few clicks north of here. Let's go."

/

Even though Oghren had saved him and Merrill from the templars, Hawke could hardly imagine why a dwarf would be adventuring in such a remote part of Thedas, especially in the dead of winter.

Throughout the long walk, Oghren scarcely asked Hawke any questions, instead preferring to talk about himself. He hailed from the ancient dwarven kingdom of Orzammar and spent a few years in the army. Some eleven years ago, a Grey Warden came to Orzammar and encouraged him to help her fight the Blight. Soon enough, Oghren left for the surface, recounting the moment as "one of the best damn decisions" he ever made.

After the Blight ended, he sought the Wardens, seeking to join their ranks. An Orlesian Warden stationed in Amaranthine granted his request, after he saw him decapitate two darkspawn at once.

"You see," Oghren said thickly as his boots crunched through the snow, "The Wardens will let anyone join, so long as you're willing to kill. But you can't just be a simple-minded killing machine – you need to kill with **skill**."

He stopped, and produced a flask. "Wait, Champion. Need some fuel." He drew his lips near the flask, gulping loudly as he did so. Hawke ruffled his nose. It had to be corn whiskey.

Finishing his draught, Oghren belched. "Ah. Much better."

Hawke rolled his eyes. The dwarf's story was too fanciful to be true. This impetuous, rude, alcoholic dwarf, a Grey Warden? He was clearly lying. But then again, he did have a Grey Warden shield suspended on his back. Hawke shook his head. Perhaps it was wise to suspend judgment for the time being, since his dwarf did save him and Merrill from the templars.

Hawke was also concerned about Merrill. Despite his best efforts to keep her warm until they reached the dwarf's camp, her hands remained deathly cold. Her breathing was slow and labored. One of her toes also appeared gangrenous.

They reached a clearing in the forest with the camp in view. The camp consisted of two tents. A fire was lit in the very center of the clearing. A tall figure, presumably a man, stood near it. A magical staff was slung over his shoulder.

"Hey!" Oghren yelled. "I'm back, and you wouldn't believe who I just picked up!"

The figure by the fire turned to face Oghren.

Hawke stopped momentarily, squinting his eyes at the figure. Was that who he thought it was?

No, it couldn't be.

It was Anders.


	2. Chapter 002: The Encampment

**Dragon Age: Champion's Fall**

_**Chapter 002 – The Encampment**_

"Hawke." Anders strode forward and tilted his head in the Champion's direction. He then turned to Merrill, who was slung over Hawke's shoulder. "Is that Merrill on your back?"

Hawke was struck by Anders' aura of calm, especially given the recent events of the previous month. He laid Merrill's limp form on the ground. Anders bent over to examine her.

"Anders. Merrill is gravely ill-"

Anders looked up and raised his eyebrows. "Yes, yes, I can deduce that much. Malnutrition and hypothermia can be quite the deadly cocktail. But she'll live, I guarantee you that." He motioned to Oghren. "Oghren, get her to the tent. Wrap her in as many blankets as you can find. Give a little oatmeal, too, if she is willing to eat. I'll tend to her shortly."

The dwarf grunted in affirmation, hoisted Merrill across his shoulders, and disappeared into one of the tents.

Hawke looked at Anders in the eye.

"Tell me, Anders, what have you been doing in the past month?"

Anders grinned. "With the mage rebellion in full swing across most of Thedas, I've decided to rejoin the Wardens – Justice has permitted me to do so. At minimum, the templars won't be able to arrest or kill me – legally, at least."

"So the Grey Wardens just let you back in? Just like that, even though you left them?"

"The Grey Wardens can be very flexible, especially in times like these."

Hawke blinked. "What do you mean, times like these?"

Anders cocked his head. "Funny how you mention time, Hawke. My desertion was forgiven due to lack of manpower in the Free Marches. Immediately after rejoining the Wardens, Stroud assigned Oghren to me and issued orders, direct from Weisshaupt."

"What sort of orders?"

"Oghren and I have been tasked to seek and destroy the Hal'mana, before rogue elements get their hands on it."

"What is it? What does it do?"

Anders cleared his throat. "An ancient elven artifact, dating back before even the time of Arlathan. As for its properties, allow me to ask you a question... Do you ever wish of turning back time? Warning your mother of that serial killer? Preventing your sister's death in the Deep Roads? This artifact can do that, and so much more..."

Hawke frowned, thinking of Bethany and Leandra. "That sounds like a miracle artifact – why do the Wardens want to destroy it?"

Anders heaved. "Altering the natural course of events threatens the stability of our realm. Our realm – the mortal realm, is a fragile piece of existence. Any attempt to change it will result in many unforeseen consequences – including the destruction of Thedas as we know it."

Oghren emerged from the tent behind Anders. "Hey Anders, I got our elf friend all nice and fixed up, just like you wanted."

"Thank you, Oghren. I'll tend to her immediately. I'll explain more later, Hawke, but in the meantime, feel free to help yourself to some oatmeal. It's by the fire." Anders disappeared into the tent.

/

"Where is this Hal'mana, any way?" Hawke ladled some soup from a pot suspended above the fire.

Night had fallen. Merrill was fast asleep inside the tent, still weak from exposure. She would need a few more days to recover fully. Anders, Hawke, and Oghren sat outside by the fire, drinking a soup made from turnips and wild mushrooms that Anders had prepared earlier.

Anders shrugged, sipping his soup. "We don't know its precise location, but it's somewhere here, in the mountains, possibly buried in a cave somewhere."

Oghren stood up. "I'm hitting the sack, gentlemen. Anders, you've got night watch, right?"

Anders put his spoon down. "Yes, I do, Oghren. Good night." Oghren disappeared into one of the tents, belching loudly as he did so.

Hawke looked up at the night sky. The skies were clear. No more snow for the time being.

Anders put down his bowl. "Hawke, there is something about the Hal'mana that I must tell you."

Hawke looked down. "What?"

"Don't tell Merrill about it."

"Why not? She will be traveling with us."

Anders cast Hawke and exasperated look. "Hawke, I know you are very close to Merrill and trust her with all of your heart, but, when it comes to certain magical artifacts of a dangerous nature, I am not certain if she will be able to restrain herself."

Hawke narrowed his eyes. "Anders, Merrill has grown-"

Anders snorted. "Grown? People obsessed with the past never see the future."

"And I suppose an obsession with mages' rights is any less different?"

Anders stood up. "Don't you dare go there-"

Hawke stood up as well, facing Anders. "You obviously believe in what you are fighting for. Why can't I believe in Merrill? That she will do the right thing when the time comes?"

Anders stepped backwards. "I-"

Hawke took a step forward, raising his finger. "We're telling Merrill everything. She may some unique insights in locating and destroying this artifact."

Anders blinked. "If she kills herself in the process, don't blame me."

"Are you talking about me?"

Anders and Hawke turned around. Merrill was standing a few meters away from them. A long shawl was draped around her shoulders.

Anders and Hawke looked at each other, unsure of how to respond. Eventually, Hawke cleared his throat.

"Merrill, have you ever heard of something called a Hal'mana?"

Merrill looked up, finger on her chin. "Oooh. The Time-Turner. Yes, I've heard of it through my studies." She paused, beaming slightly. "Are you... looking for it?"

"Yes. The Grey Wardens want to destroy it." Hawke replied.

Merrill raised her eyebrows and frowned. "Destroy it? It's an ancient elven artifact, it deserves to be preserved, not destroyed," she said sternly.

Anders stepped forward, pushing Hawke aside. "Merrill, please. The Grey Wardens only want to prevent its misuse. We can prevent its misuse only through its destruction..."

The color drained from Merrill's cheeks. "But... but... the Time-Turner – I could see Arlathan! To witness how my people lived before the armies of Tevinter forced them into slavery and destitution!" She crossed her arms. "Anders, it's not just a creaky old memento – it's a key to my people's past!"

Anders shook his head, frustrated. "Reason with her, Hawke. I need to tend to the night watch." He picked up his staff, slung it over his back, and disappeared into the forest.

In a slow gait, Hawke walked towards Merrill. Without either one prompting the other, the two embraced one another, first with a hug, and then a kiss.

Their tongues met. It had been a long time since they did. Their embrace continued for another minute or so, before Merrill broke away from Hawke's lips.

Merrill smiled and blushed. "Oh, ma vhenan, you don't know how good it is to feel your lips again."

Hawke beamed. "For a brief moment, I thought I had lost you."

Merrill nodded, before tearing herself away from Hawke's eyes. She walked towards the edge of the camp.

"Lethallin... even though my people were once immortal, the elvhen still regarded life as nature's most fragile enterprise. I do not necessarily fear death – I fear leaving this earth without ever properly saying good-bye." She turned around, her eyes on Hawke. "To people like you."

Hawke's heart fell. In his furious bid to save her, the proposition of Merrill's death never quite crossed his mind.

Merrill walked towards Hawke. "As for the Hal'Mana... Hawke, I know what must be done, but... if I could just experience elvhenan just once..."

Hawke grasped her arms. "I love you, Merrill. I don't want you getting hurt-"

Merrill broke away from him. "I know, Hawke." She sighed. "I haven't forgotten about Sundermount... and... Marethari... But, turning back time probably isn't as dangerous as consorting with... demons, isn't it?"

"Merrill... whatever you plan to do, don't throw the earth into oblivion or kill yourself, okay?"

Merrill cast a faint smile. "Of course. Perhaps we should examine the Hal'mana first before setting a course of action in stone, shall we?"

The bushes rustled behind Merrill. She turned around.

"What was that?"

Hawke shrugged. "The wind, perhaps?"

Merrill turned around, facing Hawke. She gave him a quizzical look. "But, I don't feel any wind..."

"A rustle in the shrubs isn't always caused by the wind," a woman's throaty voice answered.

Hawked gasped. So did Merrill.

Flemeth emerged from the shadows, sporting a mischievous grin. Merrill instinctively backed away from the bush in surprise. Hawke caught her by his arms.

Flemeth gazed into Hawke and Merrill's fearful eyes, taking pleasure in their apprehension.

"You thought me gone, no? Well, let's say that Flemeth always finds a way of keeping tabs..."


End file.
